


Changing Underwear

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Toujours Impur</p><p>The Nineteenth, Seamus's side of things. Featuring rambly!distractable!Seamus, and a whole lot of cliches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Underwear

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).

Dean just doesn't understand. "What, is it your goal to bed every single girl in Hogwarts before you graduate?!" he threw at me fifteen minutes ago in the common room, with Harry and Hermione trying to look as if they weren't listening. "D'you think it's funny to change girls more often than your underwear?"

He just doesn't get it. He never noticed that I hadn't dated anybody (besides Lavender for the Yule Ball) til sixth year. I was so sure we were getting somewhere and that maybe, just maybe he was gay too, but then he had to go and ruin it by going with Ginny Weasley. It wasn't me, goddammit. He deserted me first. Well, I thought, two can play that game. So I did, and he still didn't notice, still laughed and teased and filled sketchbooks of Ginny. So I kept going. It wasn't me changing girls; they threw me away because I never paid attention to them past the initial charm ("Kiss me, I'm Irish!") No, I was always paying attention to Dean.

Well, I can't do it anymore. I even managed to get Hermione when we smuggled firewhisky back from Hogsmeade and she drank it because Ron said he'd buy her a new Runes text, and now the only ones left are Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode and somehow I think that's going a bit too far. He's already furious with me (but I don't know why because it's obviously not me who deserted our friendship first) so I might as well get this over with and make him hate me forever, just for good measure.

If you've ever been on one of those Muggle things where they raise you up, up, and then let you freefall down and your stomach rushes up to your tonsils and you feel like you're about to hoy for England, except in a good way, then you'll get the idea of how I felt when I saw that Dean drew me. He did me (well, he didn't DO me--but you know what I mean) once in fourth year when I said it was either draw me now or I'll tie you down and make you draw me naked, but I never knew he drew me any other times.

He froze as I came in and looked as if he hoped that if he didn't move I wouldn't notice him. I walked over and stared down at myself on the paper, and all the eloquent words I planned to win him over with flew straight out the window and gambolled with the bluejays outside.

"You forgot my freckles," I said, intelligently. He didn't answer, just looked out the window as if it'll make me disappear. I couldn't think of anything else to say, because I mean, I wasn't Sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason.

So now I'm standing here, dumbly, and all I can think of is "Can we just snog now and get it over with?" which I don't think is very appropriate, nor very effective for the cause I'm driving for, and I think I might just shrivel up and rot.

"Dean.." I begin, still not knowing what I'm supposed to say. "I'm sorry.."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and it's so cold and foreign that I'm seriously considering the Shrivel Up and Rot course of action. "For what?"

I can't look at his impassive gaze any longer. "For.. not being honest with you.."

He snorts and smiles in a sinister way I've never seen before, and it makes me want to cry. "You seemed pretty honest all those nights that I came up to bed and found you with Mary Sue, or Caitlin, or Sally Anne.." That makes me want to cry more.

"Not.." I begin, a knife twisting my insides, and stop, desperately, because my voice gives out. Whattosaywhattosaywhattosay.. "I haven't been honest with you with something else either, Dean." Yeah, like how I've wanted to snog you since third year but was afraid you'd desert me, and then later how I'd imagine Girl of the Week to be you no matter who she was, and how I really, really, really want to feel those impossibly long fingers around--shit.

He turns slightly and I close my eyes because I can't bear to look at the cold gaze again. "Yes?" I hear.

"I--" what? I what? Want to fuck you senseless? "--well--Dean, I--" I get the feeling it's not going to work, and so I throw myself wantonly at him and think well maybe if he hates me, God will let that window unlock and we'll fall out and die. At least I'd die snogging.

His arms go round me as I fall against him and I could die, I really could, just because it's so nice, and I hear him try to say something but I won't let him because the longer I don't let him talk the longer we can stay friends and stay snogging and--are his hands going under my jumper?

He draws away from me and I think my heart's going to break. I can't look at him, I won't look at him, because I'm going to see disgust or derision and then my life will be over. He doesn't say anything, but I feel his fingers brush against my lips and I'm so startled I might just faint. "How many girls have you slept with, Seam?" Dean asks, and my world crashes round me. Shit, shit, shit. I try to pull away, to get it over with before he chucks me out the window, but he won't let me. What the hell? "Answer me."

I close my eyes and prepare to die. "Everyone in seventh year except for Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson." He doesn't move, just catches my hand and pressing his lips against the pads of my fingers. I wonder if he's trying to work me up before I die, so that I can die with a hard-on or something.

"Can I be the nineteenth, then?" The nineteenth? The nineteenth what? I think I know what he means and I can't believe my ears, but I think I might actually live to graduate.

"You can be the first." I'm definitely changing my underwear tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand, a sad pathetic sort of thing I dashed out at 1 AM last night:


End file.
